[FIC] Mortality Means Falling to Rock Bottom
Title: Mortality Means Falling to Rock Bottom
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Word Count: ~3000
Pairings/Characters: China, England, Hong Kong
Summary: England said he only wanted tea and silk--China believed him.
Notes/Warnings: The Opium Wars, Douche!England, historical inaccuracies, angst? This is the MAD that inspired me. Also, a big thank you to ayumuneechan for beta work!
China's first impression of England when the Nation first stepped into his home was that he was rude.
"Tea," England said he wanted, eyes bright and eager like sparkling pieces of the rarest jade. "And porcelain and silk. I will pay you for it with Spanish silver."
China agreed to it, allowed England into his home to trade like the other merchant leeches in society. China did not care because he didn't mind the extra silver dropping into the Royal treasury, just like his people did not mind the precious metal flowing into their hands. And then, England began to bring something he claimed to be herbal medicine instead of silver.
"Opium," England said, gifting China with a gorgeous opium pipe carved from ivory with a charming and kind grin. "Try it. You'll like it."
China's not sure why but he did. Again and again, before he realized, he couldn't help himself and automatically reached for the pipe whenever he had time to spare. He didn't even recognize it as a problem until the 9th prince refused to do anything but lie in his room and smoke. It was poison, the doctors said, the opium. The next time China checked his ivory pipe, he discovered it was black. Poison. Ivory didn't lie.
Fury ran through his blood and China almost lit his pipe again to calm himself.
The next day, a new rule was plastered in every corner of his home: opium was illegal. Thousands of people, mostly his own but some from England's home, were arrested and executed for possession and illegal smuggling of the drug. England wrote asking to see him and China immediately agreed because he thought that England was going to apologize for all the trouble he caused.
Except England entered his audience chamber in his vest, tie, and cream white shirt carrying a chest. The golden haired nation shot China a grin before he placed the wooden box on the smooth surface of the table in the middle of the room like a tribute. China knew what laid hidden in it, could smell it through the chest lid: opium. Right then, China knew that England was not going to make amends.
"What do you want?" China asked, warily eying the dubious peace offering.
"I want you to revoke your mandate," England said plainly, green eyes gauging the Asian Nation in a condescending fashion.
"No," China denied, his eyes flashing angrily. "I know what you're doing, Monster. I will not yield and I will not fall, not to the likes of you greedy and selfish barbarians."
"You are just causing more suffering for your people by making the trade illegal," England reasoned, sardonically. "You would not have to waste your efforts on your corrupt bureaucracy capturing and executing all those involved if you lift this unreasonable ban of yours. You cannot just arrest Citizens of the Crown like this."
"You can see the harm it's causing my people," China accused frigidly. "And if it raises fear for your people's safety, then I would suggest you stop smuggling your opium into my home."
"It's all in good business," England said simply, as if it justified everything.
"Your business is a poison," China spat, his tongue sharp as a whip, his eyes burning with muted loathing. "I will not revoke the mandate."
"I hope you understand this means war," England drawled patronizingly, looking at China as if he did not understand the inner workings of the world. England sneered, "Are you sure you know what you're doing? You with your ancient weapons of yesteryear? Are you not still using your bows and arrows? Perhaps your age has finally caught up with you."
"Get out of my home," China roared, insulted and offended that this uneducated parasite would dare use such a tone with him.
Without another word, England gave a mockery of a bow, turned heel, and left China to seethe. When the clack of England's boots faded beyond the inner courtyards, China unclenched his hands and smoothed his silk robe. The box of opium drew China's eyes to where it sat in the middle of the round table like a forbidden treasure chest waiting to be opened--it made China ill to even look at it.
"Big Brother?"
China felt his heart run cold as little Hong Kong emerged from the shadows of the room, hidden by the decorative blue vase that dated to the previous dynasty.
"How long have you been hiding in here?" China asked.
"I apologize for eavesdropping," Hong Kong said, his head hung in a bow.
Releasing an audible sigh, China beckoned for Hong Kong. The boy followed the signal and approached his brother before falling into the old nation's warm embrace. China smelled of peonies and green tea, he always had. But in the last few years, a hint of smokiness began to cling to his brother clothing, an herbal stench that made him lightheaded. Hong Kong was not sure he liked that scent.
"That was one of the foreign barbarians?" Hong Kong asked, his dull doll eyes looking up at China who held on even tighter to the small boy's frame. "He left the box."
"Don't go near it," China immediately told him, commanding and fretful. "Don't go near that box. Don't trust anything the foreign barbarians give you."
Hong Kong could hear the worry in his brother's voice and wished he could keep China from worrying. His brother was old, even if he didn't look it, and his brother's heart was fragile. Hong Kong settled himself more comfortably in China's lap.
"I know, Big Brother."
*
Hong Kong jolted awake in the middle of the night. His head turned to its side, blinking sleepily through the sheer gauze that kept out the insects at night and wondered whether it would be daylight soon. Just as he was about to fall back into slumber, he heard the shatter of clay coming from outside. Cautiously sitting up, Hong Kong parted the canopy of his bed and peered into the darkness of his room. He could see the faint glow of the moonbeams illuminating his door. Carefully, he stepped into his slippers and padded to the wooden door.
Pushing the door open, Hong Kong peeked through the crack into the courtyard and saw a dark mass collapsed at the inner gate, breathing laboriously as it sought to stand again. It was when the moonlight caught the pale face of his eldest brother that Hong Kong ran into the courtyard and to China's side.
"Big Brother," Hong Kong called softly, leaning down to help China stand.
China looked surprised and smiled even though it looked like it hurt him. "Hong Kong, did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"You're hurt," Hong Kong said; he could smell the blood in the air and the blood on China.
"Just a scratch," China whispered hoarsely, taking his weight off of Hong Kong. "I just need to rest in my room. Go back to sleep, Hong Kong."
Instead of obeying, Hong Kong wordlessly lead China into his room, which was much closer than the elder's room. Navigating with little difficulty in the dark, Hong Kong lead China over the step at his door and to his bed before he went to his table to light the oil lamp with flint.
"I will dirty your bed," China uttered, sitting hunched on the edge of Hong Kong's bed.
"I do not care," Hong Kong said. It took only a moment before he had the room bathed in the orange glow of fire.
It was in this lighting that Hong Kong saw China's face glittering with a sheen of sweat, his shredded robe caked with mud, dust, and blood. Gently, Hong Kong removed the garb that hung from China's lithe frame, only to find wounds, holes on his eldest brother, as if made from arrows. Hong Kong's tiny hands reached for them but paused, knowing better than to aggitate the wounds.
"Who did this?" Hong Kong softly asked when he brought a tub of cold water, a clean rag, and strips of cloth for bandaging as China had requested.
China said nothing, only taking the wet rag and dabbing at the sides of his still bleeding wounds, trying his best to not wince. Hong Kong took the rag away and tried to wash the blood in the basin of water before bringing it back to his brother, taking it upon himself to clean the wounds.
Hong Kong paused his movements and looked at China's exhausted face. "Big Brother?"
"His name is England," China said, straining with effort to get the words out, blinking at Hong Kong in the dim light.
The younger nodded and continued to clean the holes that riddled China's body. When he found little pellets of metal embedded into China's flesh, Hong Kong knew better than to ask what they were. Instead, he pulled them out with nimble and tiny fingers to China's cries of pain and dropped them onto his rosewood table. Dousing his sticky hands in the water basin, Hong Kong cleaned his fingers and quickly set about covering the punctures with the strips of cloth. Carefully, with just as much care as it took to capture a sparrow, Hong Kong began to wrap the bandages around China's torso. It looked like the worst of the bleeding had passed.
"That white man with the box," Hong Kong said without needing China to specify who England was. That man wasn't human--that man, like his brother, was a nation.
"Yes," China muttered as Hong Kong tied the ends of the bandage, tightly binding China's chest. "I'm sorry."
It wasn't any trouble, Hong Kong wanted to say, because China was his beloved Big Brother. He kept those thoughts to himself as China gently lowered himself to lie on Hong Kong's bed, the grass woven mattress now spotted with blood. China turned his head to smile at Hong Kong, his eyes half shut.
"We should sleep; it will be day soon."
Hong Kong blew out his lamp and climbed into bed. He took care to not touch China's bandages, but when China's hand covered his own, Hong Kong's heart calmed and he fell asleep.
*
"Come now, China," England drawled sadistically, forcing the pipe into China's mouth, holding it in place despite the frantic thrashing. "Don't you like it? Don't you crave for it like all your pathetic and disgraceful yellow subjects?"
China whipped his head away to the side as he struggled against the iron manacles that held him to the walls of the ship. His wrists were raw and bleeding openly, trails of blood staining China's torn blue sleeves to an ugly ugly black, drops sprinkling on the wooden planks of the floor.
He could hear it, the shots of cannons against his vessels. All of China's ships were gone in half a day, dozens of fleets sunk by a handful of England's vessels.
China would have wondered how that happened but England's sharp fist met his face and there was only agony as China tried to break free, only to hear his arm snap. He screamed because there was not much else he could do to relieve the pain. England only seemed more intrigued as he inspected the damage.
"Did that yourself, you did," England cackled, throwing his head back at the irony as he waved the opium pipe like a wand. "That was not done by me, China. Perhaps your people are still trying to hurt themselves."
"Stop," China begged, his voice shaking. "What will make you stop?"
England tucked the smouldering tip of his opium pipe under China's chin. China hissed at the burning and England's grin widened.
"I want rights to fair trade," England whispered into China's ear. "And to try my people by my laws, not your's."
"Fine," China conceded, panting.
"And I want a trading port where I can rule. I want property which I can use at my discretion. I want Hong Kong."
"No." England slapped China across the face with the opium pipe, the wood snapping at the impact, splintering to the floor.
England eyed China's scratched and now bleeding face before he said, "I didn't quite catch that."
*
They stood at the harbor, China, Hong Kong, and England. The latter two were set to leave soon--as soon as they got on the ship--and Hong Kong's small, childish hand held tightly on to China's right hand because the left one was in a sling. They looked up at the impressive naval vessel and China wondered where it went wrong, why the Manchus never reinstated maritime expeditions, why the Ming stopped it. They hadn't known, couldn't even predict that one day it would be like this. China's hand tightened its hold on Hong Kong's.
"Come, Hong Kong, let us board," England said, standing by the plank on the dock.
Hong Kong didn't move, didn't understand what the man with the large eyebrows, bright yellow hair, and jade green eyes wanted. He looked up into the warm brown eyes of his older brother and saw sadness.
"Big brother?"
"He wants you to go with him," China said, nodding at England. "Can we have a moment?"
England looked like he wanted to protest because Hong Kong belonged to him now, but the desperate look in China's eyes stopped him. England nodded and turned away.
"I don't want to go," Hong Kong said quietly, voicing his opinion for the first time since the fighting began.
China wanted to tell him that he didn't want Hong Kong to go either, but it would only make it all harder than it already was. Instead, China squatted so that he was eye level with his younger brother and affectionately caressed the boy's round cheeks.
"It's only 150 years," China said, smiling despite the fact that his arm was broken and bandages covered half his face. It was easier to lie and believe everything would be fine as long as he smiled. If he did it long enough, he could delude himself into believing it. "It will pass as quickly as winter yields to spring. Then the fragrant orchids will bloom and you will return home."
Hong Kong didn't respond, but he never really did. Hong Kong was always a quiet and strong child, and China knew he was going to be fine, even if that hateful England was taking him away. China pressed one last kiss to Hong Kong's forehead.
"Learn all you can. I will wait for you," China said in way of farewell.
Hong Kong's expression was unreadable as he looked back into China's face, both memorizing the other's face. Hong Kong leaned in and kissed China's cheek with one final whisper, "Zai jian, gege."
And then England took Hong Kong's hand and lead him onto the imposing naval ship of Brittania. China saw Hong Kong look back once, and the ancient nation buried his uncertainties and beamed at the young boy. When the ship finally left port, China waved, waved until the ship disappeared over the horizon and was gone.
China stood rooted to the harbor until night fell, even though the icy ocean breeze chilled his very bones and his wounds protested to the humidity. But that pain was insignificant when compared to the grief he felt watching Hong Kong go, watching England take his precious younger brother away to join his harem of colonies. It was then, cloaked by the night, that China's cheerful, hopeful facade broke and he cried for the first time in over a millenia.
*
England came back, as if taking Hong Kong from him wasn't enough. He wanted Kowloon too. France followed, as did Russia, Japan, and America even. They brought with them their guns and their machinery and their drugs to continue poisoning China's people.
They shot at him with their advance weapons, their strange technology, and China realized that perhaps he really was too weak. All he had were second grade weapons that he'd bought from them because he didn't know how to make them. It'd been so long since he'd been attacked like this, and by so many obviously militarily stonger nations. Not since Mongolia tore him apart, piece by piece before making him the heart of the Mongol Empire. Two dynasties have passed since then and his weakness, his obvious ineptitude, showed like a beacon on the Great Wall.
Under the cover of the new moon, China stumbled on unsteady feet over the front steps of his gate and into the dusty and deserted courtyard in retreat. He made his way into the inner courts with much effort, keeping himself upright through sheer will.
There was no one to depend on, no one at all. Everyone, in the end, were liars and out for only themselves.
His cut, bleeding hands blindly groped for the familiar wooden door and he pulled it open, stumbling ungracefully into the pitch black room--Hong Kong's room. China crawled to the table in the middle of the room, knowing he had clean bandages waiting there. Sitting on the icy floor, China carefully wrapped the bandages across his chest and hissed when he felt cuts reopen upon contact with the clean cloth. He wondered how the nations of the old knew when they were dying, if they ever realized it.
He remembered nations that once were, powerful nations that ruled the lands and the world. China remembered Persia, visiting him every so often and they would exchange stories. "What happens next?" China asked Persia, who only smiled and said, "That's a tale for next time." China would tease Persia with romances about the Three Kingdoms period, about a conniving eunuch who rose to power. "And then?" Persia asked, to which China would shake his head and say, "I will continue when we meet next." They never finished those stories.
China remembered Rome, a strong and burly man who set about to civilize the West. "They can keep their customs as long as they bow to me," Rome told him once. China sympathized and understood because that was what it took to keep a large household. He always applied that logic to keeping his own home neat and tidy. They were never close, but they understood one another. And then Rome lost to Time.
China alone outlived every single one of them and he always wondered whether it was because the Heavens smiled upon him or because the hearts of his people were that strong. Immortality, one of his Emperor's explained in jest. Nations were not immortal, China knew this better than anyone. Nations were killed by other nations who slowly but surely took everything important away until there was nothing left.
Hong Kong.
As China tied off the strips of cloth around his torso, he wondered if he was nearing his end.
Here are the facts:
1) The First Opium War (1839-1842) involved only China and England, and resulted in forcing China's adoption of the first of many unequal treaties and opening up to the rest of the world. It is also, in my opinion, where we see the fall of Imperial China into what we today call a third world nation. Here we begin what the Chinese call "the Century of Humiliation."
2) So, China honestly didn't care that much for HK. Neither did England for that matter because it was a "barren rock". The metropolitan city we see today is really thanks to England's hard work.
2.5) It's not actually 150 years, the concession of HK. HK itself (the island) was taken in 1842. Basically, HK + the New Territories was leased in 1898 in a 99 year lease so the entire area was returned to China in 1997.
3) The Second Opium War (1856-1860) involved mainly China, England and France. Qing government wasn't really enforcing the previous treaty's so England wasn't happy. England also wanted Kowloon so it had easier access to the Mainland. France wanted in on MFN (most favored nation) status. Though the other mentioned nations were less involved, they also benefited from the Treaty of Tianjin (result of Opium War part 2). It also didn't help that China was dealing with the Taiping Rebellion at this time as result of anti-foreign sentiment (including against its Manchurian ruled Qing government).
Additional notes:
Imperial China was arrogant (with reason), but that was his weakness. And face it, British Empire = Huge Douche; I love writing him like this. Oh, imperialism.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Word Count: ~3000
Pairings/Characters: China, England, Hong Kong
Summary: England said he only wanted tea and silk--China believed him.
Notes/Warnings: The Opium Wars, Douche!England, historical inaccuracies, angst? This is the MAD that inspired me. Also, a big thank you to ayumuneechan for beta work!
China's first impression of England when the Nation first stepped into his home was that he was rude.
"Tea," England said he wanted, eyes bright and eager like sparkling pieces of the rarest jade. "And porcelain and silk. I will pay you for it with Spanish silver."
China agreed to it, allowed England into his home to trade like the other merchant leeches in society. China did not care because he didn't mind the extra silver dropping into the Royal treasury, just like his people did not mind the precious metal flowing into their hands. And then, England began to bring something he claimed to be herbal medicine instead of silver.
"Opium," England said, gifting China with a gorgeous opium pipe carved from ivory with a charming and kind grin. "Try it. You'll like it."
China's not sure why but he did. Again and again, before he realized, he couldn't help himself and automatically reached for the pipe whenever he had time to spare. He didn't even recognize it as a problem until the 9th prince refused to do anything but lie in his room and smoke. It was poison, the doctors said, the opium. The next time China checked his ivory pipe, he discovered it was black. Poison. Ivory didn't lie.
Fury ran through his blood and China almost lit his pipe again to calm himself.
The next day, a new rule was plastered in every corner of his home: opium was illegal. Thousands of people, mostly his own but some from England's home, were arrested and executed for possession and illegal smuggling of the drug. England wrote asking to see him and China immediately agreed because he thought that England was going to apologize for all the trouble he caused.
Except England entered his audience chamber in his vest, tie, and cream white shirt carrying a chest. The golden haired nation shot China a grin before he placed the wooden box on the smooth surface of the table in the middle of the room like a tribute. China knew what laid hidden in it, could smell it through the chest lid: opium. Right then, China knew that England was not going to make amends.
"What do you want?" China asked, warily eying the dubious peace offering.
"I want you to revoke your mandate," England said plainly, green eyes gauging the Asian Nation in a condescending fashion.
"No," China denied, his eyes flashing angrily. "I know what you're doing, Monster. I will not yield and I will not fall, not to the likes of you greedy and selfish barbarians."
"You are just causing more suffering for your people by making the trade illegal," England reasoned, sardonically. "You would not have to waste your efforts on your corrupt bureaucracy capturing and executing all those involved if you lift this unreasonable ban of yours. You cannot just arrest Citizens of the Crown like this."
"You can see the harm it's causing my people," China accused frigidly. "And if it raises fear for your people's safety, then I would suggest you stop smuggling your opium into my home."
"It's all in good business," England said simply, as if it justified everything.
"Your business is a poison," China spat, his tongue sharp as a whip, his eyes burning with muted loathing. "I will not revoke the mandate."
"I hope you understand this means war," England drawled patronizingly, looking at China as if he did not understand the inner workings of the world. England sneered, "Are you sure you know what you're doing? You with your ancient weapons of yesteryear? Are you not still using your bows and arrows? Perhaps your age has finally caught up with you."
"Get out of my home," China roared, insulted and offended that this uneducated parasite would dare use such a tone with him.
Without another word, England gave a mockery of a bow, turned heel, and left China to seethe. When the clack of England's boots faded beyond the inner courtyards, China unclenched his hands and smoothed his silk robe. The box of opium drew China's eyes to where it sat in the middle of the round table like a forbidden treasure chest waiting to be opened--it made China ill to even look at it.
"Big Brother?"
China felt his heart run cold as little Hong Kong emerged from the shadows of the room, hidden by the decorative blue vase that dated to the previous dynasty.
"How long have you been hiding in here?" China asked.
"I apologize for eavesdropping," Hong Kong said, his head hung in a bow.
Releasing an audible sigh, China beckoned for Hong Kong. The boy followed the signal and approached his brother before falling into the old nation's warm embrace. China smelled of peonies and green tea, he always had. But in the last few years, a hint of smokiness began to cling to his brother clothing, an herbal stench that made him lightheaded. Hong Kong was not sure he liked that scent.
"That was one of the foreign barbarians?" Hong Kong asked, his dull doll eyes looking up at China who held on even tighter to the small boy's frame. "He left the box."
"Don't go near it," China immediately told him, commanding and fretful. "Don't go near that box. Don't trust anything the foreign barbarians give you."
Hong Kong could hear the worry in his brother's voice and wished he could keep China from worrying. His brother was old, even if he didn't look it, and his brother's heart was fragile. Hong Kong settled himself more comfortably in China's lap.
"I know, Big Brother."
*
Hong Kong jolted awake in the middle of the night. His head turned to its side, blinking sleepily through the sheer gauze that kept out the insects at night and wondered whether it would be daylight soon. Just as he was about to fall back into slumber, he heard the shatter of clay coming from outside. Cautiously sitting up, Hong Kong parted the canopy of his bed and peered into the darkness of his room. He could see the faint glow of the moonbeams illuminating his door. Carefully, he stepped into his slippers and padded to the wooden door.
Pushing the door open, Hong Kong peeked through the crack into the courtyard and saw a dark mass collapsed at the inner gate, breathing laboriously as it sought to stand again. It was when the moonlight caught the pale face of his eldest brother that Hong Kong ran into the courtyard and to China's side.
"Big Brother," Hong Kong called softly, leaning down to help China stand.
China looked surprised and smiled even though it looked like it hurt him. "Hong Kong, did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"You're hurt," Hong Kong said; he could smell the blood in the air and the blood on China.
"Just a scratch," China whispered hoarsely, taking his weight off of Hong Kong. "I just need to rest in my room. Go back to sleep, Hong Kong."
Instead of obeying, Hong Kong wordlessly lead China into his room, which was much closer than the elder's room. Navigating with little difficulty in the dark, Hong Kong lead China over the step at his door and to his bed before he went to his table to light the oil lamp with flint.
"I will dirty your bed," China uttered, sitting hunched on the edge of Hong Kong's bed.
"I do not care," Hong Kong said. It took only a moment before he had the room bathed in the orange glow of fire.
It was in this lighting that Hong Kong saw China's face glittering with a sheen of sweat, his shredded robe caked with mud, dust, and blood. Gently, Hong Kong removed the garb that hung from China's lithe frame, only to find wounds, holes on his eldest brother, as if made from arrows. Hong Kong's tiny hands reached for them but paused, knowing better than to aggitate the wounds.
"Who did this?" Hong Kong softly asked when he brought a tub of cold water, a clean rag, and strips of cloth for bandaging as China had requested.
China said nothing, only taking the wet rag and dabbing at the sides of his still bleeding wounds, trying his best to not wince. Hong Kong took the rag away and tried to wash the blood in the basin of water before bringing it back to his brother, taking it upon himself to clean the wounds.
Hong Kong paused his movements and looked at China's exhausted face. "Big Brother?"
"His name is England," China said, straining with effort to get the words out, blinking at Hong Kong in the dim light.
The younger nodded and continued to clean the holes that riddled China's body. When he found little pellets of metal embedded into China's flesh, Hong Kong knew better than to ask what they were. Instead, he pulled them out with nimble and tiny fingers to China's cries of pain and dropped them onto his rosewood table. Dousing his sticky hands in the water basin, Hong Kong cleaned his fingers and quickly set about covering the punctures with the strips of cloth. Carefully, with just as much care as it took to capture a sparrow, Hong Kong began to wrap the bandages around China's torso. It looked like the worst of the bleeding had passed.
"That white man with the box," Hong Kong said without needing China to specify who England was. That man wasn't human--that man, like his brother, was a nation.
"Yes," China muttered as Hong Kong tied the ends of the bandage, tightly binding China's chest. "I'm sorry."
It wasn't any trouble, Hong Kong wanted to say, because China was his beloved Big Brother. He kept those thoughts to himself as China gently lowered himself to lie on Hong Kong's bed, the grass woven mattress now spotted with blood. China turned his head to smile at Hong Kong, his eyes half shut.
"We should sleep; it will be day soon."
Hong Kong blew out his lamp and climbed into bed. He took care to not touch China's bandages, but when China's hand covered his own, Hong Kong's heart calmed and he fell asleep.
*
"Come now, China," England drawled sadistically, forcing the pipe into China's mouth, holding it in place despite the frantic thrashing. "Don't you like it? Don't you crave for it like all your pathetic and disgraceful yellow subjects?"
China whipped his head away to the side as he struggled against the iron manacles that held him to the walls of the ship. His wrists were raw and bleeding openly, trails of blood staining China's torn blue sleeves to an ugly ugly black, drops sprinkling on the wooden planks of the floor.
He could hear it, the shots of cannons against his vessels. All of China's ships were gone in half a day, dozens of fleets sunk by a handful of England's vessels.
China would have wondered how that happened but England's sharp fist met his face and there was only agony as China tried to break free, only to hear his arm snap. He screamed because there was not much else he could do to relieve the pain. England only seemed more intrigued as he inspected the damage.
"Did that yourself, you did," England cackled, throwing his head back at the irony as he waved the opium pipe like a wand. "That was not done by me, China. Perhaps your people are still trying to hurt themselves."
"Stop," China begged, his voice shaking. "What will make you stop?"
England tucked the smouldering tip of his opium pipe under China's chin. China hissed at the burning and England's grin widened.
"I want rights to fair trade," England whispered into China's ear. "And to try my people by my laws, not your's."
"Fine," China conceded, panting.
"And I want a trading port where I can rule. I want property which I can use at my discretion. I want Hong Kong."
"No." England slapped China across the face with the opium pipe, the wood snapping at the impact, splintering to the floor.
England eyed China's scratched and now bleeding face before he said, "I didn't quite catch that."
*
They stood at the harbor, China, Hong Kong, and England. The latter two were set to leave soon--as soon as they got on the ship--and Hong Kong's small, childish hand held tightly on to China's right hand because the left one was in a sling. They looked up at the impressive naval vessel and China wondered where it went wrong, why the Manchus never reinstated maritime expeditions, why the Ming stopped it. They hadn't known, couldn't even predict that one day it would be like this. China's hand tightened its hold on Hong Kong's.
"Come, Hong Kong, let us board," England said, standing by the plank on the dock.
Hong Kong didn't move, didn't understand what the man with the large eyebrows, bright yellow hair, and jade green eyes wanted. He looked up into the warm brown eyes of his older brother and saw sadness.
"Big brother?"
"He wants you to go with him," China said, nodding at England. "Can we have a moment?"
England looked like he wanted to protest because Hong Kong belonged to him now, but the desperate look in China's eyes stopped him. England nodded and turned away.
"I don't want to go," Hong Kong said quietly, voicing his opinion for the first time since the fighting began.
China wanted to tell him that he didn't want Hong Kong to go either, but it would only make it all harder than it already was. Instead, China squatted so that he was eye level with his younger brother and affectionately caressed the boy's round cheeks.
"It's only 150 years," China said, smiling despite the fact that his arm was broken and bandages covered half his face. It was easier to lie and believe everything would be fine as long as he smiled. If he did it long enough, he could delude himself into believing it. "It will pass as quickly as winter yields to spring. Then the fragrant orchids will bloom and you will return home."
Hong Kong didn't respond, but he never really did. Hong Kong was always a quiet and strong child, and China knew he was going to be fine, even if that hateful England was taking him away. China pressed one last kiss to Hong Kong's forehead.
"Learn all you can. I will wait for you," China said in way of farewell.
Hong Kong's expression was unreadable as he looked back into China's face, both memorizing the other's face. Hong Kong leaned in and kissed China's cheek with one final whisper, "Zai jian, gege."
And then England took Hong Kong's hand and lead him onto the imposing naval ship of Brittania. China saw Hong Kong look back once, and the ancient nation buried his uncertainties and beamed at the young boy. When the ship finally left port, China waved, waved until the ship disappeared over the horizon and was gone.
China stood rooted to the harbor until night fell, even though the icy ocean breeze chilled his very bones and his wounds protested to the humidity. But that pain was insignificant when compared to the grief he felt watching Hong Kong go, watching England take his precious younger brother away to join his harem of colonies. It was then, cloaked by the night, that China's cheerful, hopeful facade broke and he cried for the first time in over a millenia.
*
England came back, as if taking Hong Kong from him wasn't enough. He wanted Kowloon too. France followed, as did Russia, Japan, and America even. They brought with them their guns and their machinery and their drugs to continue poisoning China's people.
They shot at him with their advance weapons, their strange technology, and China realized that perhaps he really was too weak. All he had were second grade weapons that he'd bought from them because he didn't know how to make them. It'd been so long since he'd been attacked like this, and by so many obviously militarily stonger nations. Not since Mongolia tore him apart, piece by piece before making him the heart of the Mongol Empire. Two dynasties have passed since then and his weakness, his obvious ineptitude, showed like a beacon on the Great Wall.
Under the cover of the new moon, China stumbled on unsteady feet over the front steps of his gate and into the dusty and deserted courtyard in retreat. He made his way into the inner courts with much effort, keeping himself upright through sheer will.
There was no one to depend on, no one at all. Everyone, in the end, were liars and out for only themselves.
His cut, bleeding hands blindly groped for the familiar wooden door and he pulled it open, stumbling ungracefully into the pitch black room--Hong Kong's room. China crawled to the table in the middle of the room, knowing he had clean bandages waiting there. Sitting on the icy floor, China carefully wrapped the bandages across his chest and hissed when he felt cuts reopen upon contact with the clean cloth. He wondered how the nations of the old knew when they were dying, if they ever realized it.
He remembered nations that once were, powerful nations that ruled the lands and the world. China remembered Persia, visiting him every so often and they would exchange stories. "What happens next?" China asked Persia, who only smiled and said, "That's a tale for next time." China would tease Persia with romances about the Three Kingdoms period, about a conniving eunuch who rose to power. "And then?" Persia asked, to which China would shake his head and say, "I will continue when we meet next." They never finished those stories.
China remembered Rome, a strong and burly man who set about to civilize the West. "They can keep their customs as long as they bow to me," Rome told him once. China sympathized and understood because that was what it took to keep a large household. He always applied that logic to keeping his own home neat and tidy. They were never close, but they understood one another. And then Rome lost to Time.
China alone outlived every single one of them and he always wondered whether it was because the Heavens smiled upon him or because the hearts of his people were that strong. Immortality, one of his Emperor's explained in jest. Nations were not immortal, China knew this better than anyone. Nations were killed by other nations who slowly but surely took everything important away until there was nothing left.
Hong Kong.
As China tied off the strips of cloth around his torso, he wondered if he was nearing his end.
Here are the facts:
1) The First Opium War (1839-1842) involved only China and England, and resulted in forcing China's adoption of the first of many unequal treaties and opening up to the rest of the world. It is also, in my opinion, where we see the fall of Imperial China into what we today call a third world nation. Here we begin what the Chinese call "the Century of Humiliation."
2) So, China honestly didn't care that much for HK. Neither did England for that matter because it was a "barren rock". The metropolitan city we see today is really thanks to England's hard work.
2.5) It's not actually 150 years, the concession of HK. HK itself (the island) was taken in 1842. Basically, HK + the New Territories was leased in 1898 in a 99 year lease so the entire area was returned to China in 1997.
3) The Second Opium War (1856-1860) involved mainly China, England and France. Qing government wasn't really enforcing the previous treaty's so England wasn't happy. England also wanted Kowloon so it had easier access to the Mainland. France wanted in on MFN (most favored nation) status. Though the other mentioned nations were less involved, they also benefited from the Treaty of Tianjin (result of Opium War part 2). It also didn't help that China was dealing with the Taiping Rebellion at this time as result of anti-foreign sentiment (including against its Manchurian ruled Qing government).
Additional notes:
Imperial China was arrogant (with reason), but that was his weakness. And face it, British Empire = Huge Douche; I love writing him like this. Oh, imperialism.